Dreamwalker
by semiSweetSerpentCharmer
Summary: Walking the line between the waking world and the Fade, the lines between what is real and what isn't begin to blur. A Solas/Lavellan adult fanfic, from Solas' POV.
1. Chapter 1

It was all unraveling before his eyes.

A crossbow bolt zinged past his ear, a sharp slice of sound through the roaring around him. The dwarf, Varric, let off another one in quick succession, bringing down the writhing, firey coil of hatred and rage that had manifested before him. It gurgled and shrieked as it fell, and he focused his staff on the one behind it, the power rippling down his fingertips and delving into the rough hewn wood, focused, stronger, _magnified_…

The moment the second demon fell, three more appeared in the rift. His heart hammered faster and he could feel panic nipping at the edges of his focus, cackling like hungry hyenas around a wounded predator. Another one of Cassandra's soldiers fell, far on the other side of the group where no one could reach him. A fourth writhing figure appeared in the rift. _They kept coming_, and soon they were going to run out of warm bodies to stop them.

Claws, a screeching, red-eyed face bursting out of the ground directly in front of him, and Solas fell back on one knee, staff raised high in alarm, a wash of fear and resolve warring within him. The tip burst into an explosion of flames, catching the creature beneath the chin, but it wouldn't be enough…

_Chunk! _The sound of metal slicing deep into snow directly behind him rattled his ears, and then a spray of snow dusted the back of his head as two booted feet sailed over his bowed form, followed by leather clad legs, a slight form, a wild, whipping braid. The boots planted flat into the demons face, knocking the creature away from him. The hands that had gripped the sword hilt responsible for vaulting the elven woman straight over his head wrenched the blade out of the ground with her down-swinging momentum and with an unearthly cry, she planted knees on either side of the thrashing demon and slammed her blade into it's head.

It dissolved into green, putrescent mist. She hopped back and stood, wobbling for a moment, before looking back over her shoulder and calling out, "All right, then?"

A flash of pale eyes met his own briefly, and in the turmoil and cataclysmic noise of battle the one thing his frozen mind grappled with was; _freckles_. _A light kiss of freckles across the bridge of her nose…  
><em>  
>And then she turned again, focusing her attention on the two demons that had just stepped out of the rift. As she raised her blade again, he caught site of the green glow that pulsed through the edges of her left hand.<p>

He shoved himself to his feet. _The prisoner_. Cassandra had taken him at his word and had brought the woman to the rift to see if his theory about the mark was correct.

_Schnick! _Another bolt whizzed by his face.

"Wake up, Chuckles!" Varric was beside him, reloading his crossbow. "We're losing people, here!"

With Cassandra and the prisoner joining the battle, however, the tide soon turned. The Seeker was a juggernaut in her own right, using her shield to deflect blows to men and women beside her while her sword lanced out like a serpent's strike, catching vital points on creatures with barely any recognizable anatomy. Her control and focus were unmatched. But if Cassandra was a methodical machine of destruction, then the elven woman was a tempestuous opposite, a whirlwind of limbs and blade. Twice he saw her grind her sword deep into the body of a demon, only to launch her body backward in a flip, feet cracking up and through it's snarling head, landing and ripping the blade from the body so savagely that top and bottom went flying in opposite directions.

And then, for a moment, silence reigned, broken only by the staggering, heaving breaths of everyone on their small battlefield still living.

He lurched towards the elven woman. "Quickly, before more come through!" She gave a startled cry of protest as he wrenched her left hand free of her weapon and thrust it towards the rift. Raw power erupted around them, charging the air, drowning out the cry of pain that ripped from her lips.

_Chaos and agony_, _and then_…with a sucking, shrieking sound, the rift popped out of existence.

He released her, and she staggered back a step, planting her great-sword deep in the snow and leaning against the hilt heavily. She pulled her left hand close to her stomach, clenching it in a fist, and looked up at him, eyes pale and vividly iridescent in the snow-dusted light. Her skin was pale, clammy; she was breathing heavily, forehead pinched tight with pain, and he had a feeling it was not just from the exhaustion of the battle. "What did you do?"

"The credit is yours." He felt a stab of curiousity as his eyes followed the winding path of branches tattooed on her forehead, pale blue ink threading it's way into the shape of Mythal's Tree. _Dalish_.

"The mark on my hand." Her eyes glittered, steely. "It's responsible for closing that thing?"

"That thing is a rift. And yes." He leaned on his staff, shifting to accommodate what seemed to be a bruised rib throbbing beneath his robes. "It seems you're the key to our salvation."

Introductions were made. She watched Cassandra and Varric bicker while resting her chin on the over-large pommel of her greatsword, its length nearly reaching her shoulders. While her expression remained calm, cautious, her fingers flexed and clenched around the mark restlessly. It was evidently causing her pain, and from what he was able to study of it while she slept, it would only continue to grow.

_Foolish of you. All your fault. Look at the destruction around you…_

__"We need to reach the Breach. If anything has a chance of closing it, the mark does." All eyes turned towards him, voices falling silent. One by one, his three companions turned to face the Breach in the sky, whirling, massive, and ever-growing.

"We should hurry then, " the woman said quietly, and yanked the great-sword out of the ground, slinging it over her shoulder. "I'll take point?"

Cassandra gave a stiff nod, and re-slung her shield over her shoulder, strapping her armor down as they prepared to run once again. The prisoner's eyes fell on Solas and Varric. "You two stay in the back; see if you can flank on higher ground while Cassandra and I draw most of the attention. Maybe on opposite sides?" She wiped a hand across her tattooed forehead, dismissing sweat that was slowly cooling into ice crystals on her exposed skin. "I know it'll leave you both exposed, but-"

"It'll keep them milling in the center, uncertain." Solas nodded. "I agree."

"Nothing I like more than a cluster-fuck of confused demons." Varric heaved his crossbow onto his back, strapping it in place. "Are we ready?"

"No." The elf woman grinned, her eyes pinched. "But, ready or not…"

Varric moved towards the embankment that lead to the trail up the mountainside, his quiet chuckle more ominous than amused. Solas stopped her briefly before she moved to follow. "What do we call you, _lethallan_?"

She smiled briefly, a flash of white teeth between rosy lips. "Livan." She stressed the second syllable, gave it presence, so that it sounded like _lee-Vahn_. It wasn't an elven name, and he wasn't even sure what language it was in. "My name is Livan Lavellan."


	2. Chapter 2

"Memories in the Fade, really?" Livan leaned back against the fencepost outside of his cabin, her arms crossed, head cocked in curiosity. "Any good battles?"

Solas smiled. "Quite a few. Although I guess it depends on what you consider 'good'."

A strand of her deep, russet braid had come loose, teasing lightly against her cheek. She curled it around her finger, her eyes distant, thinking. "Battles that impressed you. That made your bones shake to watch them; battles that made your skin come alive, to see the passion in which those living threw themselves into the face of death."

Her turn of phrase was strangely poetic, and he was surprised. "An interesting way to describe it. Is that how you feel, then, during battle?"

A half-smile curled the corner of her mouth. "No. But-" she hesitated, her eyelashes dropping in faint caution over her moon-touched eyes. "Sometimes, watching you in battle, I…see that, in you. The way you fight." She raised an eyebrow. "I was curious if you had been inspired by the memories you've seen, by your dreams."

It had been a long time since anyone had rendered him speechless. She was, in an odd way, correct. There was too much at stake, too much to be lost, all because of his own shortsightedness. He _had_ to throw himself into the face of death; it was his penance, to give everything he had and more, to correct his mistake…

The silence had grown almost unbearable between them, but she was patient, watching him. Her body language had just begun to close a little, mistaking his silence for rejection of her compliment, but her chin lifted slightly when he spoke. "I…have seen many epic struggles, yes, witnessed great armies rise and fall."

She smiled, fully, so suddenly that he felt his ribcage constrict. "Tell me about one. Your favorite."

Her eagerness for what tales he had to tell warmed him. He forgot how much he enjoyed the company of another living person, how much nuance in conversation was lost on Spirits in the Fade. He could not read Livan's thoughts, and her intentions were not simple and bare for him to interpret, but he found the prospect of such a mystery…_exciting_.

"My favorite." He sucked in a slow breath, seeming to ponder for a moment. "There was one, recently, where a great warrior came to the aid of a mage about to be felled by a terrible demon. This hero launched herself bodily over the form of the fallen sorcerer-"

Her laughter pealed through the clearing. "That was earlier this week! That was me, _falon_."

"Ah." He found himself smiling. "So it was."

"So that was your favorite battle, was it?" Her voice was teasing. "Epic struggles between nations lose out to a battle where you tripped and almost died?"

"If I'm not mistaken, instead of dying, I lived, and a plethora of demons died instead, thanks to you." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "So yes, my current favorite, if I'm forced to choose."

Solas caught a sudden glint in her silvery eyes. Her smile shifted slightly, grew…_different_. "Did our battle shake your bones, then?"

He met her eyes, and they both went still, the teasing lightness suddenly a thin covering for something else, some shivering tension that entered them both at the same moment. _Like rabbit and fox, acknowledging the coming chase_. Unconsciously, he stood up straighter, suddenly unblinking, arresting her gaze. "I would say so."

"Did it make your skin come alive? Rattle the dust from your thoughts?" The timbre of her voice was rich, compelling. She had a habit of lifting her chin slightly when she spoke, a challenging shift in body language, common in many Dalish he had met in his travels; it left her looking at him from beneath dark lashes, and he had the sudden and near-painful realization that she was beautiful. Exhaustion, pain, fear, had all been tamed and brought to bay with rest and recovery from their ordeal, and her face was now radiantly flushed, both from cold and their lively conversational energy. Her lips were full and sensuous, eyes large and vivid in the radiant reflected light off the snow around them, and she was _watching him_.

He found himself chuckling, to shake the sudden trembling near his knees. "I imagine there are many more similar adventures to be had in the coming months." His voice clipped sly, slight enough so as to be almost unnoticeable. "My skin eagerly awaits them."

Silence fell between them again, but it was quite the opposite of unbearable. The air seemed to shiver between them, even as they stood quaintly apart, her arms gently folded behind her back, and his resting easily on his staff. Her eyes flicked up to the sky, breaking his gaze for a moment, and she pursed her lips suddenly. "It's getting late. I should attend my duties." Her eyes flashed at him. "Perhaps we'll talk more later."

It was meant to be a quaint farewell, polite and cool, but for some reason he felt a stirring at her words. _A promise_. "Of course." He bowed his head slightly. "Good evening."

It took him an hour longer than usual to fall asleep that night, and when he did, he did not simply dream of the Fade.


	3. Chapter 3

"Where are we even going, Chuckles?"

Solas was somehow at point in their formation, with Varric at his heels and Cassandra bringing up the rear in case the dragon pursued them. _So far, nothing_. It was still behind them in Haven.

_With Livan._

His mind, the cursed thing, was replaying it over and over in his head; Livan, standing by the catapault, whirling to face them with panic on her face as the silhouette of a dragon filled the sky. _Run! _She had screamed it, even as the flames from it's noxious breath arced across the battlements behind her, illuminating her from behind like some fell spirit from his dreams.

The last thing he saw before they dropped away from the path and lost sight of her was a flash of her wine-dark hair as she turned, unsheathing her great-sword and spreading her legs in a defiant stance as a massive scaled beast landed beyond.

"This way." His voice was grim. They kept to the secret path out of the village that the others had followed. _She should be here. We shouldn't have left her._

_This is my fault_

"I don't think we're being followed." Cassandra's voice was a quiet murmur, her gaze constantly shifting back over her shoulder to the inferno in the valley behind them. There was an uneasy clip to her voice; he knew what she wanted to say, to insist; he knew it like he knew his own thoughts.

At the peak of the trail, they heard a rumble, and the ground shook. They all stopped and turned as the other side of the valley erupted in a billowing cascade of white, steam clouds hissing vainly through the avalanche of snow. There was an agonized screech, and then the shadow of the dragon rose from the smoke and ice, arcing high into the sky and disappearing into the shadow of the horizon.

His failure was ashes in his mouth.

* * *

><p>Something woke him fully. A stirring in the Fade, perhaps, a shift in the mountain pass that they had finally camped in. There was four hours of hiking and newly fallen snow between what was left of the Inquisition and Haven, and when they finally stopped he had fallen exhausted on the first cot available to him, only to be haunted by restless half-dreams.<p>

Most of the camp was asleep, outside of a few guards. The Commander and Cassandra were talking quietly by the edge of camp near his tent; he shivered into his robe and trudged through the snow to join them.

"….stay here for a few days, just in case."

"We can't stay still for that long, he may still have troops. Or worse, that dragon…"

"You want us to just leave her? What if she's alive, injured, or-"

Cullen met his eyes as he approached. "Solas; can you sense anything?"

Solas leaned heavily on his staff, his brow furrowing. "I sense a lot of things. It would be difficult to tell if one of them were the Herald specifically, or just a lingering memory of something else that's been captured by the mountains around us."

Cassandra held up a hand. "Shhh."

They fell silent. Cassandra stared into the darkness, fingers raised, her eyes intent. Cullen stared at her for a moment, and then whispered anxiously, "There's nothing-"

_Chunk_!

Solas knew that sound. It was faint, far off, easily mistaken or ignored.

_A great-sword, slicing into the snow._

Cullen looked back at him. "Grab a torch." He took off into the darkness, Cassandra behind him. Solas flicked his fingers, and the tip of his staff lit in a brilliant orb, lighting the path around them in a glowing blue radius. He wasn't sure for how long they ran.; time blurred and lost it's hold on his thoughts as they raced through the snow. Cullen was just a dark shape ahead in the shadows, flitting back and forth across the path, snow flying behind his boots-

"She's here!"

His light fell on gleaming metal. She was kneeling in the snow, sword upright, one hand grasping white knuckled around the hilt. It seemed to be the only thing holding her up, as she was hunched, shaking with cold, white shivering puffs of breath coming raggedly between blue lips. Her armor had been shattered in many places and broken off, dark stains marring the surface of what was left. Her marked hand pressed against her ribs in pained constriction, and her long red hair was loose and soaking wet, ice crystals forming in the lank strands.

She looked up as they approached, her eyes strangely bright. "C-c-c-an't…c-can't f-f-feel my f-feet."

As Cullen reached her, she released the grip on her sword and pitched forward, almost planting in the snow before the Commander's arms caught her. With Cassandra and Solas' help, they carefully draped her over the human's broad shoulders and began a quick, loping run back towards camp, the Herald's head lolling listlessly over the commander's shoulder.

* * *

><p><em>The night is long,<em>

_And the path is dark…_

Solas looked up.

The glow of the center of camp was like a hearthfire, blazing merrily in the shadows around them. He had forsaken the warmth for privacy; Livan had fallen unconscious long before they had reached camp and even though her wounds had been tended and her body temperature returned to normal, she did not wake. Mother Giselle had insisted that the woman was near dead from exhaustion and needed sleep more than anything else, and the moment Cullen and Cassandra had returned, they had promptly begun arguing amongst themselves. Once the bitter pain of possibly losing the Herald had been relieved, their tempers had begun to flare.

He had excused himself from the conversation with good reason.

But now the voices lifting from the center of camp were of a different tone. _Singing_. They were singing; one by one the humans were stepping into the firelight, lifting their voices. And at the center, was Livan; awake, wrapped in a heavy fur lined cloak against the elements, her long hair flowing free and soft in the firelight. The flames lit her face against the shadows, and he saw the wonder there, and a touch of apprehension, as the _shem_ stepped forward and knelt before her lean figure, heads bowed.

She caught his gaze over the crowd; he would have been positive that she couldn't have seen him lurking at the edges of the light, but her eyes locked onto his immediately. Within their silver depths, he saw flames of the campfire reflected, burning white hot.

He was pierced. He shifted his weight against his staff, his heart throbbing. _Perhaps he could share some of what he knew with her. Perhaps she would understand._


	4. Chapter 4

_You change everything.  
><em>  
>A soft shiver of laughter. <em>Sweet-talker.<em>

_…sudden warmth, wetness, crushing, hungry, and the sweet smell of grass and sandalwood over the pulse of beating flesh beneath cotton, beneath his hands..._

He awoke with a start, and immediately leapt out of his bed, crashing over a pile of texts he had left at the foot. The silence after the cacophony of scattering books was thunderous.  
><em><br>What had he just done?_

Even now when his mind was near-panicked, his mouth tingled, bruised at the memory of her lips, their taste as they opened beneath his insistent tongue, demanding, devouring. He lurched through the doorway towards his desk at the center of the library, sucking in a heavy breath, willing his heart to calm…  
><em><br>…his hands grasped_ _the slope of her hips full before they slid up, feeling the living warmth of her flesh through her clothes as they carved a path up her waist, curling into the ends of her hair, and then he was aware of the sudden firm feel of her breasts pressing against him through her thin cotton jacket_…

He dug a clenched fist against his mouth, eyes squeezed shut, fully aware that his body had not taken the cue from his thoughts and was fully awake and ready after what had just happened. _Deep breaths. Take control. _

She would be coming down, soon. If he head learned anything of her at all in the past few weeks, it was that she did not delay confrontation. At. All.

Nothing short of blood magic would calm the raging fire currently burning through his veins, he was sure of it.

* * *

><p>Dust whorled around them. "What do you see?" Livan called, her hand shielding her eyes from the raging sandstorm.<p>

Varric's voice was muffled from the top of the dune. "Not much. But I don't think we can move forward."

Livan's voice was exhasperated. "How can you know that if you can't see anything?"

"That's _how_ I know. I realize you're the blessed chosen of the Maker and all that, but even the Maker couldn't make it through that nightmare."

Livan muttered a string of curse words; beneath the cloth that masked her mouth, nose, and forehead, it was nothing but an unintelligible cluster of sharp syllables. Solas laughed.

The Qunari behind him chuckled as well. "What you just said sounds dirty."

"It took us three weeks to get out here, and now we can't even complete our mission." The slit between the cloth protecting her face from sand and sun turned towards him, her eyes gleaming from its depths. "Solas! Can you do anything?"

"I'm afraid I can't conjure a windstorm sufficient enough to counteract the one already raging, Inquisitor." Their words with each other were polite, strictly professional; she had finally come down to the Library to see him, had taken two steps into the room, only to have one of Leliana's scouts interrupt them, urgently requesting that the Inquisitor come to the War Room immediately. _Saved by an unknowing shem_. And then they had packed up and moved out to some gods-forsaken desert on the western edge of Orlais, scalded and scoured by sandstorms and poisonous lizards. He couldn't have asked for a better distraction from amorous thoughts.

But there were some _meaningful looks_ being exchanged during their travels. Casual brushes of the hand or shoulder. He couldn't deny that something was now growing between them. When she hadn't immediately ordered him executed for his forward behavior he actually realized that despite the lowered inhibitions of the dream world, she had _enjoyed_ it upon awakening. Possibly even wanted to do it again. What was he going to tell her? He couldn't possibly continue what he'd started.

She was saying something to Iron Bull that he couldn't hear over the howling of the storm. He found his eyes wandering down the curve of her back, where her armor was plated and fragmented to allow movement, offering peeks of the graceful figure beneath. He remembered the feeling of taut, muscled flesh beneath his fingers through cloth and had to force himself to look away.

_Would it feel the same as it did in the Fade, to touch her in real life?_

"Solas?"

Everyone was looking at him. He cleared his throat. "I…didn't hear the question."

"For fuck's sake-" The Iron Bull turned and began the laborious process of heaving himself up the sand dune behind them, back the way they came.

Livan's eyes crinkled behind her protective cloth in what he could only interpret as a smile. "We're heading back to the Keep. I'll have to get word back to Skyhold to see what they can do for us while we're out here. Otherwise we're dead in the water. I was asking if you knew of any intel that might give us something to do while we're here?"

"Oh." He rapidly cleared his thoughts. "Yes. Certaintly. There's a few locations further west and north that we could explore while we wait for word. I have some information on the shards we've been finding, and it points to a temple north of us." _Did his voice always sound so ridiculous? What was he even saying?  
><em>  
>"Wonderful. Perhaps this trip wasn't completely useless after all. " She cocked her head to the side. "You seem distracted."<p>

Her tone was teasing…_and softly suggestive_. He straightened slightly. "Perhaps I am."

"I can't imagine why."

It was his turn to smile, although she couldn't see it through his mask. "I can think of a few reasons, myself."

"Perhaps we could talk about them when we have a free moment." She gestured behind him, indicating that he should lead the way back, and she would take up the rear.

"Perhaps. If we have time."

He made a particular effort not to look too ungainly climbing the sand dune ahead of her. He could feel her eyes on him the entire way back to the Keep, and felt his skin flush beneath his protective layering of clothing.

_You're being a fool. A complete and utter fool._

But for the first time in as long as he could remember, his heart felt light.


	5. Chapter 5

It was two weeks before word came back from Skyhold. They were camping in an Oasis far to the north, investigating the strange shards that they had been finding scattered around all of Thedas. It was strangely enjoyable to him; for a moment, they were halted on any inkling of chasing after Corypheus, and so they explored and adventured, camping nights in the lush gardens by the oasis and spending days uncovering secrets and treasures that had apparently laid hidden for centuries.

He had been on many such forays in the past, but always on his own, never with…companions. Friends. The dwarf, once you got used to his loquaciousness, was a steadfast follower with a sharp mind and an even sharper intellect that he hid behind a smarmy merchant's smile. The qunari had been a difficult conversation partner in the beginning, but Iron Bull seemed to be willing to discuss difficult topics with some modicum of respect. Solas hadn't seen him as much more than a mindless drone when they had first met, but the Bull had proven himself loyal and capable of difficult decisions, even in the face of heart-wrenching loss. There were days, despite himself, that he wished he had the Qunari's unflagging sense of who he was.

And then there was Livan.

Once away from the trappings of the keep, or Skyhold, or her duties as a leader, she revealed herself to be delightfully witty, with a keen intelligence and a willingness to laugh at the slightest provocation. Despite the commanding way that she carried herself, Solas realized how young she really was compared to him; there was a vibrance and a freshness in the way that she saw the world, in her wonder at the vast wasteland around them. It was a quality he himself shared, and had almost forgotten he possessed in the strains of their travels. When they first discovered the Oasis, she had removed her gloves and boots and plunged her bare feet into the trickling water, sighing in delight at the simple feel of water on her skin.

It may have been that moment that he realized how far deep he was getting into this.

The world around him was full of senses and emotion and pain and it was _real_; and she was its gleaming nexus, shining so brightly that it almost hurt to look at her.

She was no dream.

* * *

><p>"One more story, Varric, and then I'm done for the night." Livan took a slice of apple from Bull's bowl of food. "I have sand in places no one should ever have sand in."<p>

Bull pulled his bowl out of her grasping reach before she could snag another piece. "Seriously, Boss, the next one you take, I'm taking a finger in exchange."

She wrinkled her nose at him. Varric chuckled. "I think I'd rather let someone else take a turn. Can't reveal my entire repertoire all in one go. Solas?"

Solas was prodding at the fire; he looked up to find all eyes on him. Livan smiled. "Oh yes, Solas. Tell us something you've seen in the Fade."

"But…nothing too weird," interjected Bull.

He chuckled. "I have plenty of variations of weird, Qunari. I may have something appropriate for the evening."

He began spinning a tale of a haunting at a vast lake that he had found in a dream; it was guarded by a water spirit, a _rusalka_, the ghost of a woman who had long ago been drowned in the waters by her lover. She would appear to passers-by in the shallows, in the visage of her human form, a beautiful woman, and attempt to lure them into the water with her. Those who succumbed were drowned, their bones joining the _rusalka_ at the bottom of the lake.

One evening, a young mage, a mortalitasi, was passing by the waters. He could sense the spirits loneliness and greif, and knew that the drownings were revenge for the crime perpetrated on her person when she was alive. He befriended the spirit, reminded her of what it was like to feel human again, and when she revealed the name of her former lover and murderer to him, he went to the man's grave, for it had been many centuries that the _rusalka _had been dead. He summoned the spirit of the murderer, and found that the man's spirit had been warped and twisted by the guilt and anger of his crime during his life. The mortalitasi had to battle the creature, finally banishing it from the earth with it's defeat and severing the magics that kept the _rusalka _bound to her grave.

Solas' companions were silent for a moment around the campfire, lulled by his tale. "Wow," Livan finally murmered. "So did that release her spirit? Was she free?"

"Not quite. When the mortalitasi returned to the lake, the _rusalka _was still there, but the magics giving her the illusion of beauty that had helped her lure many innocents to their death was gone, revealing her own self to have been hideously transformed by her desire for revenge." Solas shifted slightly, staring into the flames. "The mortalitasi could have chosen to banish her in the same manner as he did her lover, but he could still sense his friend in the monstrousity before him. He waded out into the waters to be with her, like many had done so before, but instead of drowning him, the _rusalka _embraced him, and bestowed upon him a kiss. Such an act of gratitude, of forgiveness, released her soul into the Fade, and the lake no longer harbored her vengeful spirit."

Varric was hunched over in the firelight, scribbling madly. Livan laughed. "What are you doing?"

He looked up sheepishly. "Sorry! I was…ah…taking notes."

Bull and Livan dissolved into laughter. Solas smiled. "You're welcome to publish it. And please…don't credit the source."

Varric chuckled. "You don't have to tell me twice. You're not a bad storyteller. You know. For an apostate."

"You're too gracious." Solas waved a hand dismissively. "For a dwarf, that is."

* * *

><p>He saw her immediately, but perhaps it was because he was looking for her. He knew she had been coming here a few nights, after they had finally cleared the immediate area of Venitori. He wasn't sure if it was some Dalish trick she knew or simply luck, but the wildlife never seemed to bother her.<p>

She was waist deep in the middle of the pond, wearing a thin layer of cotton that was already soaked and sticking to her in wet patches. Her head was bent over the piece of armor in her hand as she scrubbed at it vigorously, occasionally dunking it into the pond water. The waterfall almost masked her voice, humming tunelessly. No torches. No lamps. Just moonlight and the water, and the mist of the waterfall slowly soaking her to the bone.

She looked up as he approached. "Looking to take a bath, _falon_?"

"Just making sure that you're not accosted by varghests in the middle of your laundry, Inquisitor."

She straightened slightly, brushing damp strands of hair back from her face. "Inquisitor, is it?" Her tone was teasing but there was a strange knot of tension in her voice. "I have another name too, you know." She snorted ironically. "It's 'Herald of Andraste.'"

He sat on a rock outcropping a few feet from where she stood in the water. "I only mean to show you respect, _lathellan_."

She was quiet for a moment, her eyes searching his face. "What else do you mean to show me?"

The air was suddenly thick in his throat. They stared at one another for a moment; he was painfully aware of the outline of her body, visible beneath her sodden clothing. The watery mist jeweled against her bare arms, leaving glimmering beads of moisture along her skin. He had a sudden impulsive image in his mind; _running his tongue over her flesh and capturing those gems of dew between his lips…_

…right before he was dragged down to his doom? Before she learned who he was and all was lost?

"I…" His words caught. _What was his purpose here? What could even possibly happen that wouldn't end in shattering heartbreak?_

"You are right to question my motives, Inquisitor," he said at last. "I have not…been in this position for some time. I would…like some time to think on it, if you would allow it."

She regarded him for a moment; he could see the slight disappointment in her stance, the way her shoulders slumped forward slightly, a guarded pose. But she nodded, smiling slightly. "Of course, Solas. Take as much time as you need. Perhaps…we can speak more when we return to Skyhold." She looked back down at her armor and continued her chore, and he stood, making his way back to camp. He knew a dismissal when he saw one.

His tent was little comfort in the dark stillness; it was hard not to think of her, walking back to camp, stripping wet clothes away from cooled flesh, goosebumps rising on her skin in the chill evening air. He grit his teeth against the images his mind insisted on torturing him with. He knew what he had to do. It would be kinder to simply let it simmer out, die down before the flame grew any strength to burn on it's own. When they returned, he would tell her that it was all a mistake, and they should keep their arrangement a polite and cordial friendship, nothing more.

It was the right thing to do.


	6. Chapter 6

When he finally reached Livan's chambers, the guard was not outside of her door. _Banished, perhaps, in anticipation of his visit_?

He paused for a moment, steeling himself, going over the words he knew he had to speak to her in his mind. He was somewhat surprised at just how tight the knot of anxiety and…_admit it_…sorrow had grown in the pit of his stomach, how heavy his heart felt. It had to be done.

It took him a long moment to raise his hand and open the door.

"Inquisitor? You summoned me?"

She was standing across the room, out on the balcony. When she turned to look at him, the setting sun lit her russet hair on fire. Enflaming her features. She wore it loose, again, forgoing her customary warrior's braid. He made his way across the room to her, surreptitiously examining her quarters. _Books, scattered across the floor and the foot of the bed. A tray with three empty teacups and a pot long gone cold sitting by the chaise lounge. A small pile of what looked to be charcoal sketches stacked on the end table. A small flute-like instrument, perhaps a piccolo, almost visible beneath a mound of paperwork on the desk. _ She was hardly organized, but he found the cluttered objects of her life filling the extravagant space strangely poignant. For a Dalish warrior, she was no simple hunter bent on protecting clan and providing fresh kills for meals. He saw a tapestry of an inquisitive mind with a poetic spirit, delving deep into story and legend with a hunger that reminded him of himself.

_A much younger self, at that_.

It was a simple, short glimpse that made him question everything he had resolved to tell her before walking in here.

She smiled, a hint of weariness at the corners of her mouth. "You're later than I expected."

"Your messenger got caught up by Ambassador Montiliyet. Apparently one of your noble guests demanded a hot bath and there was no one to boil water for it." He leaned against the ramparts, feeling the warmth of her presence close to his side through the chill mountain air. He didn't dare touch her.

She sighed, and edge of amusement in her voice. "I don't think I had a hot bath my entire life until Haven. The shemlen and their luxuries."

He laughed. "Luxuries have their place. If you bring this concept of a 'hot bath' back to your people someday, you may revolutionize the entire face of Dalish culture."

She looked out over the landscape; neither of them was moving towards the other, or making eye contact, but it felt comfortable; a deep, safe warmth and ease of companionship that Solas hadn't quite seemed to build with any of the others. "You may be right." Her voice held a bubble of laughter. "Just wait until I reveal the ancient art of baking garnished flat bread in brick ovens. They'll make me honorary Keeper."

He shifted slightly, so that their shoulders touched; the contact raised a small sliver of heat between them. "You make light of your people often, I've noticed." It was no accusation, but a line of inquiry; an honest observation desiring of an honest response.

She chuckled, her face warmly illuminated by the dying light. "Perhaps I don't always take the Dalish too seriously; I think many of my kin have made that mistake in spades, and it brings nothing but grief. We need to laugh at ourselves, at times." She smiled slightly, her eyes turned inward towards her own thoughts, and the subtle affection that melted over her face warmed his heart. "But I love my people," she said simply. "I love what we've created; and from all that I've seen of Thedas in these last few months, it only deepens that love. Where the whole wide world either grasps at history in greed for it's treasures, or ignores it completely, we try to honor it, to preserve what we have and to learn more, to _know_." She brushed her fingers against her forehead lightly, where the pale blue outlines of her vallaslin contrasted with her warm skin. "I've seen many a human, or dwarf, or even elf, struggle with who they are, thrashing against the world like a bound animal, confused and wounded. As much as you argue with Bull about the Qun sometimes, you must admit; there is power in knowing where you've come from."

Thunder rumbled through his heart, shook him. "Wise words," he said quietly. "There is, indeed. History may hold many answers for us all, although…learning it's truths may reveal that we've lived on only to repeat the mistakes of those that came before us." He sighed. "I've seen so many great people's, great nations, live out the same cycles of action over and over, rise, and fall. I sometimes wonder if we're fated to re-live patterns without pause, and if there's ever a chance to change what we seem doomed to repeat; if we can break our cycles and grow into new greatness."

He turned, finally, to look at her; she was gazeing down into the valley below them, and, feeling his eyes, looked up. "What were you like?" he asked, "Before the anchor?"

Her expression furrowed into puzzlement. "What do you mean?"

He reached over, and she obliged, lifting her left hand and allowing him to take it into his. It was a study in contrasts; the back of her hand, smooth, silky, with faint spidery lines of old scars across the knuckles from past battles. Her palm and finger pads were calloused and hard, with soft divets of virgin, velvety skin in-between. Contradictions, opposites, existing in harmony together. He stroked her thumb-pad, noticing how the mark on her palm flickered and shivered at the contact. "Do you think the anchor has…changed you, in any way? Does having it make you feel different? Your personality, or your…thoughts? Your spirit?"

Her eyes were sharply focused on him now; he felt caught in the stare of some hungry predator. "I don't think so." Her voice was soft, breathy. "I feel..normal. Like myself, I mean."

Her gaze was swallowing him; he knew this was the moment that he needed to tell her, to end their little game of romance, but caught in her brilliant eyes, all that he could manage was, "Oh."

Her mouth twitched slightly, the betrayal of a slight smile. "Why do you ask?"

He searched her face, eyes following the smooth planes of cheek and jaw, the pert and stubborn chin, the faint sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of her nose. "You…show a wisdom, a spirit I haven't seen in a very long time. You are marked, of course, but it is not just this-" He stroked the mark along her palm-"that makes you special. You are…" He found his gaze pulled up to the vallaslin on her forehead, "…very different from what I expected you to be."

Her forehead crinkled with confusion. "What does all this mean, Solas?"

"It means I have not forgotten the kiss."

He said it before he meant to. This was not going the way he planned. Her body language shifted subtley, and she was stepping forward, chin lifted towards his face, eyes hooded by her long lashes. "Good."

Her mouth was moist, full, lips slightly parted and breathing deeply in anticipation. She was inches from him, yet she waited, wanting him to close the gap between them; he could feel her need, radiating off of her like the blazing heat off the dunes of the desert, but he hesitated. _This couldn't happen_. Not in real life; there would be no excuse, no Fade to take the memories and the blame for his actions. He grit his teeth, and physically turned away, needing space, needing distance from the brightness of her eyes…

Her hand shot out and caught his elbow, the simple touch stopping him in his tracks.

"It would be a mistake," He choked out, not looking at her.

Her grasp softened, and for a moment he thought she was actually going to allow him to leave. He simultaneously rejoiced at her wisdom and suffered the deep, biting pangs of disappointment. But then her fingers lightly grazed down his sleeve, and those calloused fingers touched his own, interlacing between them and fervently grasping his hand.

"Don't go," she said, quietly. No begging; no demands. Just a simple, heartfelt plea.

He turned towards her, his heart wrung by the longing in her face. If he left, he knew she would be heartbroken. _And so would he._ This was perhaps the first time that they had truly touched physically, skin to skin contact, and yet the woman before him had interwoven herself into his spirit, snuck in through the cracks and the crevices in his shield and had wrapped herself around his heart like a lover around the body of her beloved.

"Losing you-" he began…and then he couldn't finish. Agony, sorrow, passion, came crashing through him and he stepped towards her, bodies crashing together as he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her.

She stepped back with the force of his onslaught, finding purchase against the battlements to their back. He held her in the way he had dreamed about for months; heart-to-heart, her figure full and pressed against his body, taut energy and muscled curves melting beneath his fingers as they explored her through layers of cotton. To be restrained for so long, to hold at a distance and not give in to his temptations, made letting go feel incredible…

She moaned into his mouth, a soft, tantalizing sound, which only served to increase his fervor. He broke away from the kiss briefly only to press his lips against the soft skin of her neck, letting his tongue taste the sweet flavor of her flesh. Her body spasmed against his, shivering with delight, and his hands slid from her waist to her buttocks, grasping firm flesh and pulling her hips into his, feeling her form press hard against his quickly thickening member. His teeth found the curve of her pointed ear, and his lips closed around it, feeling a thrill of satisfaction at the strangled breath she sucked between clenched teeth, arching her body more fully into his arms._  
><em>  
><em>BAM! BAM! BAM!<br>_  
>Startled, like ice-water over his head, he pushed back, breaking their contact in an instant. Disoriented, he stared at her for a moment; her face was glowing with a heated flush, eyes bright, lips red and swollen from their passions. Her chest heaved with quickened breath, and she shakily reached out a hand and steadied herself on the railing of her balcony.<p>

"Inquisitor!"

She pressed a palm to her face, making a heavily disgusted noise of frustration. He suddenly had to laugh; it seems the fates would make them wait a little longer.

"No rest for the wicked, as they say," he said quietly, and held out his hand. She stepped towards him, taking it; there was something salaciously intimate about their palms pressed together, that made the blood rise through his body once again. He cupped her chin in his free hand, eyes searching her face briefly, before he pressed his lips to her cheek; a chaste comparison to their firey embrace moments before, and yet he felt her shiver in response. "Ar lath ma, vhenan," he whispered. He felt her still slightly at his words, but she did not balk, did not pull away. "We'll speak…later."

He turned, and walked through her chambers to the door, letting in the frenzied sentry who seemed buried beneath the stack of missives meant to be delivered to Livan. Making his way down through the hallways towards the Library, he found himself uncharacteristically whistling.

There would be a _later_. He would make sure of it.


	7. Chapter 7

_Author's note: Please forgive the butchering of any elvish you may find here._

* * *

><p>They had been back for a few days, but their travails in the Exalted plains had been particularly draining, and most of the circle of adventurers that Livan had collected around her had taken to their private quarters, sleeping, bathing, eating, and sleeping some more. He had been no exception; the Temple of Dirthamen had been particularly trying for him, to be surrounded by relics so familiar and yet so alien to him now. It surprised him that returning to Skyhold had felt more like coming home than any place he had made his own in centuries. The thought felt comforting and unnerving at the same time. That evening he had decided to go down to supper, to engage with his comrades and shake some of the melancholy from his thoughts, only to find that Livan wasn't seated with the rest.<p>

She also wasn't in her chambers later when he went to find her. It was late, or…early, depending on how you interpreted the dusky moon almost setting in the west, the very early morning hours blanketing the keep under a thick, heavy cloak of near silence. The tables had been cleared, the kitchen staff were grabbing a few hours of rest before rising to bake the morning bread and prepare breakfast. There were still guards, still a few servants slipping through the corriders, but all was quiet.

Solas always loved this time of night. There seemed to be a hushed magic enveloping everything, making the living world feel almost like the Fade; a surreal dream, solid yet mysterious and ever-shifting. He had taken to going on walks during this time not long after they had arrived at Skyhold. But this was, admittedly, the first time that he had stolen up to the Inquisitors bedchambers, like a clichéd lover from one of Varric's romance serials.

Except that the heroine usually wasn't missing in those stories.

Consternation threatened to rise, but he stood quietly outside of her bedroom door for a long moment, thinking. He realized for the first time that in his own struggle with traversing the ancient Elvhen ruins, he may have overlooked Livan's. It must have been difficult to find so many clues to her people's history, and yet truly find no clear answers, only half-truths and tantalizing hints at what might have been. He cursed himself momentarily for being a shortsighted cad, before beginning his journey through the Keep, determined to find her.

He was crossing the courtyard, when he heard a familiar voice. "Looking for someone?"

Cassandra emerged from the shadows, dressed in her plainclothes; her face was flushed with heat and soot, and he guessed that she was coming from the armory, probably working late over repairing equipment. It wasn't her job, but he found that Cassandra hated being idle, and the prolonged rest taken by many of her companions probably had left her with little to do.

He crossed his arms, playing with the idea of being secretive only for a moment. This would simply goad Cassandra into thinking he was hiding something of importance. "I'm looking for the Inquisitor. She's not in her quarters."

The Seeker's eyebrows went up slightly, but she made no derisive comment. "I think I may have seen her earlier, heading down into the cellars. That was some time ago, though, so do not blame me if you waste a trip." He inclined his head gravely in thanks before turning to leave, only to be stopped by Cassandra's voice once more. "There is something between you two, is there not?"

He cringed slightly at her tact and looked at her over his shoulder. "Is there not something between all of us, Seeker? We are all connected by our common mission. We are…comrades. Friends, if you will."

He was surprised at the smile that split Cassandra's face. "Just friends, then, I take it?"

He stared at her for a long moment, the level of his discomfort unmatched. No better way out than the beat a hasty retreat. "Good evening, Seeker."

He immediately turned and made his exit, wincing at the amusement in Cassandra's voice as she called after him, "Good evening, Solas."

* * *

><p>He watched her for a moment from the doorway. She was in the lower depths of the library, in the most unused and ancient room in the keep; they had found many a massive, aged tome tucked in the shelves in the cellar room, but most had been in languages un-used in current times, and even Solas didn't recognize some of them. They had kept the room up for curiousity's sake but the level was never used, most of their researchers preferring to stick to the upper floors, where the tomes were readable and the air was warmer.<p>

She was sitting cross-legged on the massive table in the center of the circular room, bare legs stark against the dark stone and polished wood. Her night-shirt hung slightly too-large on her lean form, and her hair was hastily tucked behind her ears, head bent forward over a large tome opened in her lap. A thick robe lay discarded over the large chair propped back against one of the shelves.

"_Aneth ara_," he said warmly. "Looking for something to read, _vhenan_?"

She looked up, startled, but her posture relaxed as he walked forward into the light. "_Atisha, ma vhenan_," she responded, and then smiled. "You're up late."

"You are not in the most opportune place to throw judgement on that account." He fingered the spine of one of the tomes stacked near where she sat. "I thought these were un-readable by most everyone?"

He looked up, seeing an unexpected mask of sorrow fall over her face. "I…just needed to look. For something. Anything that might stand out, or make sense." She sighed, and pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration. "Perhaps I thought just the searching would put me at ease. The Temple we uncovered held so many answers that we simply could not grasp because of our lack of understanding. It's maddening, Solas. To be so close to the truth, have it paraded before us, and yet be so unable to reach out and take it…"

He came to stand in front of her at the desk, placing a hand on her knee; despite the chill of the cellar air, her skin was warm, feverish almost, and he stroked her skin absently with his thumb, concern in his voice. "There is much lost and much more to be discovered, _vhenan_," he said quietly. "Have we not learned so much already in our travels?"

She met his gaze, resignation in her voice. "We have."

"Then we must continue on our path, and the answers will have to reveal themselves at some point." He felt a flash of guilt at his words. Her desire to reclaim what was once lost mirrored his own, in intensity and in her dedication to it, and yet while her intentions were pure his had been long ago sullied. He moved his hand from her knee to her face, cupping her cheek. "You have done much, you know," he said, a slightly teasing note creeping into his voice. "You cannot expect to do it all."

She wrinkled her nose at him, smiling. "Watch me."

He laughed. She shifted slightly, turning to face him more. "We know why I'm up so late, in my neurosis and fanatic obsession for history." She turned her head slightly, nuzzling her cheek into his palm. "Why aren't you asleep like the rest?"

His eyes were locked on her curved mouth as she turned and kissed his palm. "I was looking for you."

_Oops_. Well. He had been hoping to come off slightly more debonair than that, but apparently his words had a startling effect regardless; Livan looked at him again, a gleam in her eyes. "Coming to tell me a bedtime story?"

His voice caught in his throat as his hand slid from her cheek to the curve of her ear, brushing it with his fingers. "I could, if that's what you want."

Her eyes remained locked on his, but he felt her tremble at the touch, and his body burned at the memory of her hungry kisses, her soft moans. "I do enjoy the sound of your voice."

"Do you, now?" He stepped closer, to the edge of the table, and she responded with agonizing slowness; shifting her hips to the edge of the wood, slowly unfolding her legs and letting them dangle down, her bare knees brushing against either side of his hips. She leaned back on her hands slightly, away from him, her head tilted against his stroking fingers.

His free hand slid over the top of her knee. "_Ar nuvenin ma_." His voice had become deeper, quieter, thicker in his throat.

She was very still, but did not balk at his touch. Her knee shifted slightly against his body, bare foot brushing against his calf. _An inviting, tantalizing tease_. She shifted forward, until their centers touched, his hips resting neatly in her soft inner thigh. "An interesting way to begin a story," she whispered.

His hand slid up her bare thigh, feeling the trail of gooseflesh raise at his touch. His other hand came down, brushing at the wide collar of her night-shirt, finding the top button. "This story began a while ago." He leaned in, his lips tantalizingly close to hers, and then released the first button.

"Did it?" She gave a quavering breath as his hand moved to the second button. "Have you been telling it this whole time?" _Schnick! _The cotton night-shirt fell open slightly, revealing a faint scar over her smooth collarbone.

He leaned in further, his lips close to her ear. "I have." The third button fell open under his fingers, which were surprisingly deft compared to the shaking in his knees. "I'm beginning to think it will be my best one, yet."

"Better than the rebelling Qunari in the Fade?"

_Schnick!_ The fourth button. "Better."

"Better than the memories of Cumberland or Weisshupt?"

He chuckled into her skin. "This has been the more enjoyable victory."

"Oh, a victory is it?" She leaned back slightly, just as he unsnared the final button. It was at that moment that he realized she was wearing nothing else, the flimsy cotton opening to bare flesh beneath.

He felt himself go hard in an instant, blood pooling between his legs so quickly it left him light headed. "Perhaps," he said huskily, his voice tight, "The victory is yours and not mine."

The rise and fall of her chest was pronounced, but she had yet to touch him. Carefully, with agonizing slowness, his fingers teased the edges of the night-shirt open fully, revealing a belly taut with muscle, lean and marked by thin, silvery scars. Her breasts were full and firmly round, nipples erect in the chilly cellar air, sweeping up into a graceful, long neck. Her waist tapered narrowly, hips flaring dramatically by contrast, drawing his eye down to the russet line of soft hair that teased at the depths beneath. She was feminine grace and brutal strength fused into one, velvet and granite, and undeniably real and warm.

His eyes drank her in. "Most definitely yours," he whispered.

They reached for each other simultaneously; her hands found the edges of his tunic and lifted it in one swift motion over his head. His mouth crushed against the soft flesh between her neck and shoulder as he pushed the night-shirt off of her frame, letting it crumble to the table behind her. Their mouths met, opened and needing, insistent kisses thrusting as both of their hands fumbled together over the ties in his breeches. A clatter of boots, of belt, and then he was free, and with her tangled in his arms, he bent her back over the table and thrust into her warmth.

She was already wet, her hot center taking him into it's slick embrace. She cried out, unmuffled and unabashed, burying her mouth against his shoulder and biting down, hard. The pain was slight and searing, while pleasure rippled through him in an agonizing wave, threatening to bring him to his fall immediately. His senses were bombarded with the smell of her; sweet grass and the cinder smoke of campfire, sandalwood, the smell of the forest, of _life_. Her skin was musky, sweet, and as his lips found her face, her forehead, her eyes, he tasted a hint of salt, of tears, of sweat, of all that she had shed for them…for him.

"_Ma emma vhenan'ara_," he whispered into the shell of her ear. He thrust again…and again, feeling her body riposte and writhe in respone. "_Ma sa'lath, ma da'mi_…"

Her arms snaked around his neck, pulling him tightly against her; they fused into one, centers burning around each other, sweat slicked in the cold air. He felt desperation and an uncontrollable fire raging within him, warring, and he buried his face into her hair, squeezing his eyes shut, salt stinging his eyes and his hand clutched around her waist, driving into her soft flesh again and again.

"Solas," she whispered…and then he felt her come, her slickened walls clamping down around his member in hot agony, her voice trailing into a wordless cry. He shuddered, jolted, and released his essence deep into her core, muffling his voice into the curve of her throat, fingernails digging in and marring her skin, raising welts. He rode the muscular coils of her throes, holding tight to her; and when they finally fell sated to the wood beneath them, only then did he relax his grip, his entire body melting, as if he had been cast into stone and finally freed.

Their breathing slowed; he lifted his head slightly from the depths of her hair, nuzzling her neck in the briefest of touches, and he heard a soft chuckle escape her lips. The sound pierced him; it was light and heavy at once, echoing a deep satisfaction, a sweet joy that sang to him and thrilled his skin.

He smiled in spite of himself. "Laughter is usually not the hoped for response, _vhenan_."

"Mmm," she said languidly. "I'll do better next time."

_Next time_. A lance of wonderment pierced him. He propped himself up on one elbow, finally looking down at her. Her face was flushed pink, eyes shining and hooded, a slow, sated smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. He brushed a thumb down the slope of her bottom lip. "We should return you to your quarters, where it's warmer," he said, suddenly solicitous.

"We should return _us_ to my quarters, you mean."

"Was that an invitation?"

He ducked quickly as her night-shirt was flung unceremoniously towards his head. She laughed.

"Ah," he said, and slid his arms around her, lifting her off the table; she squealed and wrapped her legs around his waist, clinging to him. "It seems it was." The joy came unbidden, easy; he could not remember a time when such lightness of spirit was close at hand, ready at the surface to be taken and shared.

They dressed quickly; he tucked Livan into her thick robe and together they stole out of the cellar, with quiet, hurried steps, making their way through less travelled hallways. They laughed lightly and whispered to each other as they dodged guards and snuck up servants staircases, like children on some forbidden escapade.

And when they finally arrived at Livan's quarters, they slept little.

Near dawn, all became quiet, and Solas finally fell into a half-doze just as the sun was creeping over the mountains, shining soft pink light through the massive windows around her chambers. He glanced sleepily to his right, where she lay exhausted on her stomach, the blankets pulled down to her waist, her face mashed into the pillow and half-hidden by tangled locks of hair. She breathed deep, an oblivious, undisturbed sleep.

He closed his eyes, face turned towards the rising sun, and for the first time in a long time, he slept a dreamless sleep, the smell of sandalwood following him into the darkness.


	8. Chapter 8

Solas awoke to the sound of voices. He opened one eye surreptitiously; the bed was empty save for him, though the sheets next to him were still warm. Muted conversation could be heard at the bottom of the stairs; Livan's voice talking quietly with another woman, maybe Leliana, although it was difficult to tell.

He sat up, inhaling deeply. The sun was high overhead; it was near noon, if not past, and the ever-present chill in the mountain air was momentarily banished by the high sun. Someone, presumably Livan, had opened the windows leading out to the balcony, and the fresh air kissed his skin like a caress. He wanted to lie back, to close his eyes, basking in both his relaxed, untroubled mind and carnally satisfied body for as long as he could, but if the tone of the conversation below was any indication, Livan would soon be pulled away to her duties once more.

So he slid out from beneath the blankets and stood, walking bare-skinned to the balcony door. The eastern facing window was tucked discreetly away from any prying eyes on the wall, overlooking the bare glacier below the foundations of the Keep and the snowy Frostbacks beyond, but he still kept back in the shadow of the overhang, leaning against the window frame and closing his eyes. The sounds of the Keep below were faint; up here, he could hear the quiet whisper of an almost non-existent breeze, the sky yawning above him in a vast and open expanse of blue, stretching into what seemed an eternity.

_Tarasyl'an Te'las_. The place where the sky is kept.

Footsteps on the stairs behind him brought him back from his reverie; he opened his eyes and turned, to find Livan breaching the top of the staircase, clad in her thick night robe and grinning widely at his naked form. Her wine-dark hair was impossibly tousled, beyond any recognizable elegance. "Well," she said lightly. "Good morning to you."

He turned fully towards her, crossing his arms over his bare chest. "I'm quite sure it's well past morning."

"Semantics will get you everywhere." She crossed the floor to him, and he nonchalantly untied the belt of her robe as she drew close. She shrugged it off, and he pulled her close, wrapping her nakedness against his body.

_How had he gone so long without such a simple, necessary touch? _It seemed now that after touching her he could not go long without re-igniting the contact, needing some part of her to be near him. He pressed his nose into the top of her hair, inhaling deeply. "I assume that you're to be pulled away to Council this…_morning_?"

"You assume correctly. Some of our scouts returned from the Arbor Wilds this morning. Leliana seemed disturbed by their reports, although she wouldn't tell me much in the hallway." She tilted her head up, the tip of her nose brushing against his. "I think we're getting close," she said softly.

He felt a thrill of alarm at her words, though he cautiously kept his expression schooled. _The Wilds_. He wasn't sure, but he think he knew what lay there in wait, and a cold prickle of uncertainty creeped through his blood. They didn't speak for a long moment. Solas traced a finger down her cheek, to her lips, before cupping her chin with his hand. "Then you should go," he said quietly. "I'll return to my studies, and…we can speak, later."

She opened her lips slightly, nipping the tip of his finger; the sudden warm wetness of her mouth made his groin tighten sharply, and she slowly released him, sucking gently on his fingertip. "Let us speak just a little longer," she whispered, and pulled back, grasping his hands and leading him towards the bed.

He would always remember that morning; despite the urgency of the moment, their movements were unhurried, lazy; she sat astride him, back arched and hair tumbling over damp skin, her eyes locked onto his and her hips slow and languid. His hands grasped her backside loosely, feeling hard muscle move beneath silken flesh, letting his unabashed gaze rove over her form as she rode against him. He held back as long as he could; he did not want to release this moment, release the magic of their night together that had bled into the daylight and had not fled like his dreams.

When they were spent, his breaths coming in ragged gasps, she bent over him, silver eyes glowing. She pressed her mouth against his briefly, her hair cascading around him. "Good afternoon," she whispered.

* * *

><p>It had been days since they had been alone together, and it looked like it may be many more; the Arbor Wilds had indeed been hiding a secret for a very long time, and as they travelled through the thick jungle, Solas felt a returning heaviness, a creeping dread that had long lain dormant while he adventured with the <em>shemlen<em>. There were ruins, ancient architectures that he had not seen in centuries. Memories of a past life came flooding back, awakening in him like tiny fears given physical form.

They arrived on a bloody scene. Inquisition forces had been there for days, trying to hold strategic positions that would leave a trail to a hidden temple deep within the forest. Livan was focused; all laughter was gone from her, and she moved between tents in the forward camp, speaking quickly, eyes flicking over reports, making snap decisions that would determine the lives and deaths of men and women around her. He'd seen many a commander crack under the pressure, but Livan just forged forward, never stopping, always moving.

He looked up from where he was sitting in their circle of tents, just as Livan was approaching. She looked every inch the Inquisitor; her armor gleamed, freshly hewn with dragon scales from one of her own kills, her russet hair braided to one side and draped down over the front of her breastplate like some silken standard of battle. The blade strapped to her back was new, as well; leaner and lighter than the clunky greatswords hefted by her human warriors, it curved in a wave pattern not dis-similar to many Dalish one-handed swords.

"We have a path," she said shortly, her eyes fierce. "Great Mythal protect us, we're taking the Temple, now."

Cassandra stood, her expression firm. Varric began hefting ammunition over one shoulder. His eyes met Livan's briefly, and he nodded, encouraging. Her mouth twitched slightly, and she turned, gesturing for them to follow.

They ran at a half-jog through the camp and out into the jungle, crashing through the brush. The knot in his stomach tightened. For better or for worse, it was all coming to a head.


	9. Chapter 9

"You can't do this."

All eyes turned towards him. He was resolute, striding towards her as if they were alone in the inner sanctum of the Well. "You can't possibly be considering taking the Well's power for your own."

Livan's expression was calm, but her eyes were steely; he saw a faint crease on her forehead, a faint furrow of hurt between her eyebrows, but her voice was even. "What do you suggest? That I let a _human_ take the People's power?"

Morrigan's expression darkened considerably, but she remained silent, crossing her arms defiantly over her chest. Solas opened his arms wide, a gesture of helplessness. "Do you not know what waits for you on the other side of this act, Inquisitor? This Well bestows a geas; a compulsion that you will not be able to resist."

"I know what a geas is, Solas," she said quietly, but he knew her apparently calm exterior was a thin shell over a flaring temper. "But we need the Well." Her eyes hooded slightly with sorrow. "And Mythal was…murdered ,long ago. Though I honor her memory, I do not fear the will of a long dead god. And I will _not_…" Here, her eyes darted sharply to Morrigan, "Let a _shem_ pillage the history of my people."

He was walking a thin line. There was only so much he could tell her without revealing himself, but his heart was screaming inside of him, pushing him to stop her at any cost. He licked his dry lips, stepping closer to her. "I implore you," he said quietly, the intensity of his voice compelling her eyes to meet his own. "Livan, please. Do not do this."

She was silent for a long moment, staring at him. Everyone remained still, as if moving or speaking would shatter the very air around them, bringing down reality into splinters. For the first moment in all the time that he had known her, he could not read her expression; her eyes reflected the shimmering silver light from the pool, and in it's depths all he saw was his future sundered.

"I'm taking it," she finally said, her voice fierce. She touched his arm briefly, saying quietly, "There is power in knowing where you've come from, _vhenan_. And the People have been powerless for far too long."

Her words hurt him, in a way she would never understand. He flinched, and stepped back, as she turned and waded resolutely into the water, straight-backed, hands de-gloved and tracing across the silvery surface. He felt the deep hum of magic, a quiet shiver that shook and grew into a roiling ripple; threads of raw power snaked off of the Well's surface, and one by one they began coiling around her legs, her arms, her body, enveloping her and hiding her from view.

They waited for what seemed like hours; Morrigan paced feverishly at the Well's edge, her eyes peering sharply into the foggy mist as if hoping to catch a glimpse of it's contents. Cassandra stood resolute, her face a mask of worry. Varric sat at the entrance to the Well's sanctum, claiming that the farther away he could get from it, the better.

He pressed his hand over his eyes. This was his fault. She hadn't known the entire truth, the truth that he had kept from her, and through the blazing warmth of her good intentions sat him, in the center. The liar. The fool. He had been too afraid to reveal it all to her, too unwilling to face the ramifications. The coward.

His fingers tapped restlessly against his staff. _He could fix this_. He _had_ to be able to. Once he saw Corypheus defeated and the orb returned, he would have the power take action. A geas was eternally binding, but there had to be a way…there was _always_ a way.

_BOOM!_

An explosion rocked the center of the fountain, and they were sprayed with flying mist as the arcane fog cleared. In the center of the now barren waters, lay Livan.

_Or Livan's body. _

They all rushed to the still form, voices raised at once in cacophony. Solas knelt, patting at her pale, wet cheeks. "Inquisitor!" he called. "Inquisitor!"

She lay still, unmoving. He held his hand hovering over her mouth and nose, feeling a faint puff of breath. "Livan! Livan, please!"

Her eyes snapped open, and his heart quailed at the sight. For a moment, her eyes were not her own; they crackled with a white hot energy, glowing with foreign power. She blinked, water droplets twinkling off her lashes, and then her gaze was her own again, un-focused and confused. "Wha-"

"Are you well? Can you hear us?" Cassandra bent over next to Solas, snapping her fingers in front of the elf woman's face.

She lifted her head slightly off the ground, grimacing. "I-"

A crash erupted from the far end of the temple, and they all looked at once.

Corypheus had found them.

Livan's disorientation quickly dissipated. "Through the mirror," she hissed. "Now."

* * *

><p>He heard footsteps enter the Library behind him, but he didn't turn from where he stood, eyes taking in the massive mural that had been steadily growing on the wall since they first arrived in Skyhold. He knew who's steps they were.<p>

She was silent behind him for a long moment. He tried to maintain a neutral posture, but his anger tightened his shoulder, and when he spoke, it flared in his voice. "I begged with you not to drink from the Well."

Her voice was soft when she spoke; ardent, apologetic. "Solas-"

"Do you have any idea what you've done?" He turned, then, and looked at her, forced himself to meet her gaze. He saw her flinch back slightly before re-settling, straightening her back. "You've bound yourself to an ancient Elven god!"

There was a sudden sorrow in her eyes that diffused his anger somewhat, and for a moment, he _saw_ her; not as a leader, or even a lover, but as the lost child of a lost people, fumbling her way through the dark. The terrible pain that had plagued her through the Temple was evident the moment they had encountered the Elvhen sentries. She had spoken to Abelas like a comrade, like kin, claiming that they were the same, that she meant no harm to him. Her eagerness for knowledge and willing compassion to the sentries had been blindingly bright, and Abelas had spoken to her with scorn, calling her _shemlen_ and claiming that they were nothing alike. Solas knew that he had meant it as a dismissal, but the words had cut Livan to the core.

"Is being bound to a god of my own people such a horrible thing?" she asked lightly.

He sighed, deflating. "You can't possibly know all the ramifications of this act, _vhenan_. We do not know if the gods were even really gods. They could have been…mages, or powerful spirits. It was too much of a risk." The half lies and half truths in his words stung him, even as he spoke them.

She walked towards him. "Did you _see_ the Temple, Solas?"

His brow furrowed, confused. "Of course."

"It was magnificent; an ancient relic that has withstood who knows how many centuries. Now, we live in _aravels_ drawn by magic and _halla_, and sit around campfires telling stories." She stood in front of him, her arms gently resting behind her back. Her chin was lifted slightly, but her eyes were wide, looking up at him unabashed and raw. "We've tried to preserve and to rebuild; my Warleader talked of regaining our lost land and lost glory, of leading our people into a new age someday. That Temple…it was a relic, a symbol of all that we've lost, and even then it held only more mysteries, more questions within questions. Even it's guardians no longer knew if they had a purpose." Naked grief etched her face. "So much has disappeared into the nothing, taken from us; I just couldn't…I couldn't let the Well…"

He pulled her close. "All right," he whispered. She did not cry; her face was pressed heavily against his shoulder, but he felt no shuddering of tears, no wetness against his clothing. When she lifted her head, she was collected, though there was a trembling edge to her calm.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" he asked gently.

She snorted. "You hate tea."

He absently brushed a loose lock of hair back from her forehead. "And you do not."

* * *

><p>Hours later, thought her spirits still seemed heavy, she was smiling again. They spoke long into the night, sitting on either end of the chaise in the Library. She went through half a bag of tea leaves and four cups of steaming water; the stimulant seemed to brighten her slightly, allowing her former sharpness and clarity to return. He nursed his own mug, and gently stroked her bare foot where she had propped it in his lap as they spoke.<p>

The normalcy of it was astoundingly easy to sink into. Had he been a different man, with a different life, he could see this being their life, their routine; study, lore, adventure, travel…

_….and she made love like a wildcat in a thunder storm…_

His heart twinged with bittersweet regret. The Temple of Mythal had shocked him, shaken him; he was back in a time and place that he had long forgotten, and the sharp, painful reminder of his duty was a knife to his heart. He had been amongst his new companions for so long that his former life, his former obligations, had begun to feel like no more than a dream, a quavering memory that could be neatly tucked away and moved past. But the moment that Abelas greeted them, and he saw the same, leafless pattern tattooed on his face as the one that graced Livan's, he knew that he could not simply tuck away what he had done. Livan was his sweet, sweet dream, and reality was a cold, sharp mistress that promised nothing but pain.

And he knew, with a growing knot of sorrow in his stomach, that it was time to wake up.


	10. Chapter 10

The group of guards were milling around in the courtyard, having that classic look of a _Mob Gathering Around Something Interesting_. Dorian pushed his way through the muttering men, breaking through the center . "What in heaven's name are you all-"

He fell silent, staring.

The day before, eight training dummies had been poised by the armory, creating a loosely marked area for soldiers to practice drills. The group milling about in subdued chaos were the first group signed up to do a run through with Commander Cullen this morning.

Around the courtyard were the obliterated remains of each dummy. Shreds of hay, stuffing, burlap and splintered wood scattered from the armory door all the way to the back alley behind the tavern. Not a single one remained standing, and even some of the larger pieces looked to have been hacked to bits.

"Well." He scratched his head. Nothing else seemed to be destroyed. "This is…rather odd."

"Excuse me, excuse me please…all right, _move_, please, yes, that's right." Commander Cullen broke through the crowd, coming to a stop as Dorian turned. "I…what in the…" He caught Dorian's gaze and understanding lit his face. "Did _you_ do this?"

"Oh for-_please_, I only just arrived, Commander. One of this lot must have done it." He gestured towards the gathered soldiers, who, typically, all began speaking at once.

"Quiet! Quiet! All right, shut _up_, the lot of you!" Silence reigned. Cullen frowned thoughtfully, eyes raking over the bizarre destruction littered across the courtyard. He sighed. "Fine. I don't care who did it; we'll find out soon enough. All of you, clean up this mess and report back to the barracks; we'll figure something else out for drills this morning." He ignored the stifled moans and groans and disappeared, leaving Dorian to facilitate clean up duty, which he did with no small amount of disdain.

What would this Keep _come_ to if he were not here to keep things moving, really?

* * *

><p>"What happened next?"<p>

Iron Bull shrugged, poking at the fireplace with his short blade. "She punched her. Square in the jaw. I mean, there's been days where I've wanted to do it myself, you know, but Sera's one of us." The Qunari shook his head. "I've never seen Livan like that before. She just kinda…snapped, you know."

Varric shook his head, his brow furrowed with worry. "Did anyone see? The soldiers?"

"Nah, just some traders drinking in the tavern, and Cole. He got the Inquisitor out of there before it could escalate any further; I think Sera was yelling something about poisoned arrows."

Cole spoke up from the shadows. "She was raw, raking, raging; holding it in so tightly, not letting anyone see it, and then laughter, mockery, at her bare face, because she had been wrong about what the marks meant." He peered up from underneath the brim of his wide hat. "Could I have a marshmellow?"

"Yeah, did you see Livan's face? What happened to her tattoos? It's like she just woke up one day and they were gone." Varric tossed a large, fluffy lump to Cole, who caught it with supernatural precision.

Cassandra looked at Solas where he sat at the edge of the group. "I…thought Dalish tattoos were permanent? Solas, do you know how Livan's could have…disappeared?"

He felt all eyes around the fire shift to where he sat. It took every ounce of will he had left to say, calmly, "I removed them. It was a…private moment. I'm not inclined to talk about it, if you don't mind."

The brief silence was awkward, before Cassandra relented. "Of course. I shouldn't have asked."

"Where's Her Inquisitorialness now, Seeker?" Varric was desperately trying to shift the conversation, but it was Iron Bull who responded.

"I believe she's drinking."

Cassandra balked. "Where?"

"Ah…with Sera."

* * *

><p>"This <em>almost<em> makes up for messing up my face, you know." Sera took a long pull from her bottle, spilling a little out of the corner of her mouth.

"Hmmm." Livan squinted at her skeptically, noting the dark bruise under her left eye. "I don't know. I rather dare say it's an improvement."

"Quit you, you silly bitch!" Sera swiped at Livan's head, missing by a wide margin and fumbling her drink. Livan laughed.

"I'm sorry, truly. It's been a….rough few days." Livan took a drink, leaning back against the roof they were both sprawled out on. She sighed, and said, not for the first time, "I can't believe I let him remove the vallaslin."

"Now, don't you start on that. It's a good thing they're gone, yeah? Don't mean much but that you're some demon's serving wench or whatever." Sera opened a new bottle of wine with the tip of her knife, sending the cork flying out into the darkness over the Tavern's lawn. "Better to have it gone than not."

Livan remained silent, brooding. She didn't regret removing her tattoos, but it was…difficult to think of that night, or the past few days…_or any time she had spent with Solas_….at all, without her insides twisting and burning, as if she were on fire from the inside out. She hadn't wept yet; was that something to be proud of?

She _had_ demolished her Keep's entire array of training dummies. _Not quite so proud_.

Sera pointed at the bottle in her hand. "If you don't keep up, I'm going to finish this all myself, and then _no one_ will be safe. Come ooooon, your face'll stick that way, you keep at it."

Reluctantly, Livan lifted her bottle of wine and clinked it together with Sera's. "To not being some demon's serving wench. "

"Or anyone elses, yeah! Cheers!"

* * *

><p>He heard the lower door open and stood from where he'd been sitting on the stairs. Her footsteps, normally light, were heavy and uneven, shuffling over the stone.<p>

He was leaning against the wall when she turned the corner and saw him. She froze, her eyes bleary in the light.

"Well," she said quietly. "What ever could _you_ be doing here?"

"Inquisitor, please. These….displays…"

"…are none of your business." Her tone was sharp, and he sucked in a slow breath, trying the calm the bubble of emotion that threatened to burst in his throat.

It hurt to look at her. The last time he had been this close to her, her face had been illuminated, glowing in the darkness with his magic as he had stripped away the markings of her bondage. She was fresh-faced, her skin unmarred and untainted, and in that moment, he had been obliterated. _You are so beautiful_.

And then he had ended it. He thought to make it a clean break, to give her something that would free her, from the past, from…_him_. He had anticipated the heartbreak, but this…

_Such pain etched on her face, her cheeks shallower, eyes sunken from lack of sleep_. Her expression was hard, but he could see it, in the way she held herself, the tilt of her head, the rawness in her eyes. Her suffering was more than deep; it was near killing her.

_He was dying of it, too. _

"Livan, you have greater obligations. We…both do. You _must_ lead the Inquisition. I-" he inhaled a shuddering breath. "I cannot see you like this."

"Then stop looking." Her voice had softened slightly, and then she sighed. "You can't push me away with no explanation and then think that you can come here and advise me on how to act." She leaned wearily against the wall, squeezing her eyes shut. "Please, Solas. I'm…way too tired, and slightly too drunk to do this right now."

His arms burned from the effort of not reaching for her. "You destroyed all the training dummies in the courtyard."

She opened her eyes; he caught a gleam of silver in the darkness of the stairwell. "It was either them, or you." There was an edge in her voice he'd never heard her use in conversation with him before. "I politely ask that you not make me regret my decision."

He wanted to laugh; and scream, at her stubbornness, at the painfully impenetrable wall she now erected between them. _The foundation of which he had laid himself._ "Livan," he said, gently, and the rippling emotion…_the love_…in his voice cut at her; he could see it, in the way she flinched back, curled her hands into fists. "Inquisitor," he amended, "You mustn't…."

He paused, and sighed. "It is agony," he whispered, acknowledging it, letting her see it in him. His insides threshed like a maelstrom, a constant, bitter rise and fall of gutting pain. "It is, I know it. But there is a better target for your pain, right now, than your Keep, or your companions. Or even me."

She walked up the stairs towards him, her steps slightly wobbly; when she reached his eye level, she stared him down, unblinking, unmasked. Greif and bitter heartbreak carved out her features, and for a moment their connection burst through their many dented shields and returned; inverted, bound together in their misery, this small moment in the darkened staircase was theirs.

"Corypheus," she said.

And a spark of resolve lit in her eyes.

"Use this…this pain, sharpen it to an edge. You cannot falter now, and neither can I." She was close enough to touch…_he could reach for her if he wanted to._

Her face crumpled ever so slightly as her eyes searched his face. "I just don't understand, Solas," she said simply; her voice broke as it skipped over his name, and she inhaled sharply, pressing her hand hard over her eyes, breaking their gaze.

He was shaking; his heart felt like hot, molten metal cooling heavy and painfully in his chest. He took a shuddering breath. "When we are finished," he said slowly, concentrating on pronouncing each syllable. "When it is done, we will…we will talk."

She looked up sharply; no tears, but her eyes glistened wetly. "Do you promise me?"

Fire, resolve, raged through him as he nodded. "I promise."

She inhaled deeply, and straightened her shoulders. "Then we will talk, later. I…" She paused, as if uncertain, and her voice softened. "I bid you good night, Solas."

She slipped past him, her body coming a hairsbreadth away from brushing against his own. He wanted it to happen; even an accidental touch was better than this sudden yawning emptiness that was slowly consuming him.

He watched her reach her door, open it, and step inside, turning around to catch his eye. "Good night, Inquisitor."

* * *

><p>His own quarters seemed small, spare, banal, and much too empty. He had dressed down and sat on the bed, fingering the stack of freshly laundered clothes that had been delivered in his absence. His tunic was folded neatly at the top.<p>

He had sent it to the laundry twice. It looked crisp and spotless, and he lifted it to his face, inhaling deeply.

The light scent of soap, and beneath it, the unbidden and tenacious aroma of sandalwood.

He ran his thumb over the thin cotton. He could simply burn it. Throw it away. Purchase a hundred more like it from the merchants at the Keep, or purchase better if he liked.

_…her calloused fingers sliding it up over his head, the tunic falling behind them, crushed beneath their writhing bodies…_

He folded it carefully, slid it into the sleeve of his pillow. It would be too cruel during the day, to smell her on him, to not be able to escape her for a moment's peace. But at night, his misery would be his bedfellow; his memories would be his punishment. And perhaps his dreams would be a balm, or they would be torture; either would be appropriate for what he'd done.

He laid his head into her sweet smell, and shut his eyes to the world.


	11. Chapter 11

The door that lead back to the war room slammed open, rocketing back on its hinges. Everyone looked up immediately. They were all gathered; word had spread amongst the inner circle, and as the Inquisitors meeting had dragged on with her advisors, they had all trickled in from the various corners of the Keep,

Now Livan thundered through the door, immediately making her way to where everyone was gathered. "Get your things," she said quickly. There was an intensity in the urgency of her voice. "Your best things. Corypheus is assaulting the Temple of Sacred Ashes."

Sera glanced around uneasily. "Which of us is going with you, then?"

Livan's expression was grim. "All of us."

Everyone had lurched to their feet the moment she started speaking, but now the entire group went still. "We'll be splitting up into two teams," she said evenly. "Leliana's idea; create multiple flanking targets to keep Corypheus guessing which group I'm actually in. We'll take different paths up the mountain and rendezvous near the top." She scanned all of their faces, and she seemed strangely…calm. Serene. _Resolved_.

Her eyes met Solas', and he nodded at her, briefly_. I am with you._

"Let's move. Five minutes, front gate." Her gaze softened slightly and she held her hands out to them all, palms up. Without her characteristic tattoos, her face was smooth, unblemished in the glowing light lancing through the hallway. She looked regal, a noble sweep to her high, smooth forehead. "_Dareth shiral_, my dearest friends," she said, quietly. "May we return safely home, victorious."

* * *

><p>Blackwall and Solas were the last two stragglers, completing the large group of warriors, mages, thieves and rogues, gathered at the base of the mountain. No forces could be seen, and Corypheus hadn't appeared yet, despite the intel they had received that he was here.<p>

Livan was on one knee when Solas approached, eyes closed. Everyone was uncharacteristically still, silent, waiting, watching her closely.

After a few moments, she opened her eyes; her gaze flashed the same crackling white that Solas had witnessed after she had partaken of the Well of Sorrows, before settling into their clear, silver-gray.

"He's here," she murmured quietly. "We split up now. Cassandra will be leading the south flank; it's a longer path up the mountain but will have a lighter concentration of rifts, so if you run into trouble it should be quick to handle."

Sera asked uneasily, "How can you even know that?"

Livan straightened onto her feet, unslinging her blade. "I was…informed. Just a moment ago.

The elven archer looked less than happy at the response, but she said nothing more.

"Cole, Sera, Dorian, Blackwall, you're with Cassandra. Everyone else is with me. " She gave brief instructions to the auxillary group, before sending them off, Cassandra leading half of their comrades in a light jog around the base of the trail to the other side.

"All right," she said quietly. "Let's go."

* * *

><p>Vivienne tossed Bull a healing potion; the copiously bleeding Qunari bit off the cork and downed it immediately, his body glowing green briefly, wounds knitting closed before their eyes. He tossed the bottle aside, shattering it against the stone, before roaring and throwing himself back into the fray.<p>

Their pace was frantic. There was no shift and sway of the tide of battle; every second was a white-knuckled frenzy to keep obliteration at bay. Livan hurled herself against enemies in a frenzy, a blur of whipping legs and slicing blade. She felled three demons at once, spinning heel over toe in maddening circles with her great blade held out, blood spiraling away from the whirlwind. Her and Iron Bull had a rhythm going; the great Qunari would occasionally bend low, allowing the elven woman to propel off of his body into packs of approaching demons, turning herself into living ammunition. Vivienne was firing every offensive spell he'd ever seen her attempt with one hand, while her spirit blade wailed from the other.

He double-dutied between flaying demons with magic and desperately trying to keep everyone alive. His barriers seemed to dissipate much too quickly, and every hit that each of his companions took fueled the rising panic in his chest.

It was not going well. _They were not going to make it. _

Then, the earth began to tremble.

Everything standing fell to the ground as the ground shook violently, rumbling low like some slumbering beast newly awakened. Demons shrieked as they toppled into opening chasms in the ground. Solas desperately ground his staff against the stone beneath him, trying to find purchase. A strange, jolting nausea suddenly rocked him, and he realized as he rolled over onto his back that the sky was _moving_…

The ground that they all clung to was floating. _Upwards_.

"Boss! _Boss_!"

Iron Bull's frantic shouts drew his attention. He scrambled over the rolling ground, looking up, only to see Livan struggling with a single remaining demon; the beast reared back, and Livan dodged under it's arm, going for an body blow…only to catch the rising backhanded strike of the demon's other claw as it lurched with her. She flew back, hitting the dirt hard on her back, before sliding downwards at breakneck speed on a broken section of the trail they had climbed up. She flailed, twisted around, tried to dig her sword into the ground to halt her slide, but her blade glanced off hardened, frozen dirt and granite. His heart lurched, and he scrabbled forward, the demon sizzling and screeching under repeated blasts from his staff as the edge of the cliff loomed behind her.

_No, no, no, no…._

Her hand reached out, desperately clawing at the dirt moments before the ground rocked, and her body shot out over empty space. Her braid whipped out behind her, arms flailing in the air, sword flying out of her grip, and then her form disappeared below without so much as a sound.

"_Livan_!" He lurched down towards the trail, intent on following, but Iron Bull's grasp caught his arm and held him back.

"No use going over after her! Just hold on!" Despite his struggling, the Qunari held him down onto the ground, pinned and unmoving, and after a few moments the sickening dance of the earth below them quieted. There was nothing but sky around them at all sides…

…and the trail, leading up through the floating pieces of earth that had just been lifted into the sky.

Iron Bull released him, and Solas scrabbled towards the edge that Livan had fallen over, staff in hand. He heard the others sprint up behind him, breathing heavily. As one, they all leaned over the edge, peering into the darkness below.

"Do you see her?" Varric knelt down, leaning out far over the edge.

"I don't see anything, my dear. It does not bode well for any of us if our key to closing the Breach once more is gone."

"Wait, shut up!" Iron Bull lifted a hand. "Look, there."

Below them, caught on a broken shelf jutting out from the cliff face below them, was a subtle gleam. Livan's sword.

They began calling her name. Their panic was palpable, thick in the air, as more time went on without an answer. "The other team will be waiting for us, and the longer we wait, the longer they fight without our support." Iron Bull's words were heavy. _And true_.

"We can't just leave her. What if she's alive?" Varric turned towards the Qunari, defiant despite Bull having quite a few inches on him. "What are we even going to accomplish without her?"

"We can keep everyone else on this fucking mountain from dying as well, that's what!" The Qunari's voice boomed.

_As well?_ "You don't know that she's dead," Solas said coldly.

"Look, I don't want to leave her either, elf, but there are people waiting for us. People who, after fighting for a really long time, _get tired_."

"If you're all finished, I think I see her." Vivienne's voice was cool, even as she knelt at the cliff's edge far to their left, holding her staff down into the shadows below, the tip of it glowing brightly. "Down there, to my right."

They clustered around her. Far below, a tangled, dark form lay still on a narrow jutting ledge.

"Is she moving?" Varric whispered.

"We have to get down to her," Solas said sharply. He could tell even from this distance that one of her legs was bent at an unnatural angle. If she were still alive, it would be a miracle.

They ended up using Vivienne's extravagant robe and strips of Solas' much less grandiose cape to create a makeshift sling. They settled Varric into it, and slowly lowered the dwarf down into the darkness, both him and Vivienne lighting the ends of their staves and casting a touch of brightness down into the abyss.

There was a long, agonizing pause while Varric disentangled himself from the sling far below them.

Solas' anxiety burst, and he called out, "Does she breathe?"

"Yeah," came the far-away reply. Solas' eyes squeezed shut, an unbidden crash of relief flooding him. "She's conscious…sort of...and not really in a good way."

"Do you have a potion to give her?" Vivienne called back.

"No, not me. Mine were gone back before the mountain started levitating." There was a shuffling sound, and a short cry of pain, and then Varric's voice. "I'm gonna have to do this really, really carefully, but I can get her into the sling, and then you'll have to bring her up nice and slow."

Solas had lived through, and witnessed, some precarious moments, but he was positive that the next fifteen minutes of his life were the longest, the most agonizing, and the ones that he would most not want to live again, given the chance. Iron Bull's muscles strained against the sling's weight, moving slowly, methodically, trying to keep the sling from swinging as much as possible. And as the sling rose, Solas could hear her agonized, short breaths, the struggling sounds of pain she made each time the sling brushed against the cliff face. He felt a sharp pain the palms of his hands, and slowly unclenched his fists, the marks that his fingernails had left filling with blood.

"Can you be more careful?" His spit it out through gritted teeth.

"Do _you_ want to do this?" Iron Bull's voice revealed his strain; he was sweating with the effort of using only the strength of his arms to steady the weight of the woman in the sling below.

"Please just hurry, Iron Bull. He does not mean it like that." Vivienne's voice was surprisingly gentle, and the Qunari, mollified, bent his head back to his task.

Livan was finally lifted onto the edge of the cliff, and laid down on the ground. They slowly unwrapped the sling from around her body, and Solas sucked in a pained, sharp breath. She was bloodied dramatically, most likely from superficial cuts and scrapes, but the way that she labored through her breathing, the way her body was subtley shaking, indicated that there were copious internal wounds. Her left leg was most obviously broken, and her left shoulder seemed out of place, hanging down at an odd angle to where she cradled her forearm against her body.

"Who's got a potion?" Iron Bull was brisque, kneeling at Livan's side, his eyes scanning the mess of her wounds grimly.

Solas was out; so was Vivienne. The fight up the mountainside had been brutal and they had not fared well on supplies. Iron Bull sifted through his pouch, and they all perked up at the clink of glass as he pulled out a single bottle.

"A regeneration potion." The Qunari grimaced. "Oh man…this is going to be bad."

"It's all we have," Vivienne responded coolly. "There's not much choice." While a healing potion instantly mended wounds in the flash of a single moment, the regeneration potions took longer, increased the normal rate of healing…but normal healing still occurred. Livan had quite a lot of healing to do, and the process was going to be…intense.

"We'll have to set her leg, and get her shoulder back into place before we give it to her," Solas said grimly. "Otherwise it'll heal incorrectly."

Varric's voice floated over the edge of the cliff. "If you've stopped her Inquisitorialness from dying, would someone mind pulling me up?"

Solas and Iron Bull locked eyes. Solas nodded towards the cliff. "Bring up the dwarf; we'll handle this."

"We will?" Vivienne asked dubiously, her eyes raking over the mess of wounds before them.

Solas leaned over Livan's face, bending to her ear. "Just think of something pleasant and try not to move too much. I'll be as quick as possible."

Her voice was faint, barely a whisper, as if coming from a great distance. "Just…do it." Her breath wheezed. "Hard to…stay awake."

He instructed Vivienne to hold Livan's neck still, supporting her head, while he relocated her shoulder. He had learned many different healing techniques throughout his long life, but here there were no tools, no splints or poultices or tonics to dull the senses and ease pain; he found the socket of her shoulder through her armor, braced her arm, and deftly snapped it back into place.

An agonized cry erupted from Livan's mouth, and her fingers clenched, grasping the sleeve of his robe. She rasped a series of rapid, wheezing breaths.

"We'll do the leg next," he said gently. "Vivienne, please be ready with the potion."

Iron Bull had pulled Varric back up to join them, taking far less time and far less care with the dwarf than he had with the Inquisitor, a face that Varric made sure everyone was aware of as he crested the edge of the cliff. Solas elected to have Iron Bull set the leg, the Qunari's strength hopefully making the process faster and cleaner. Solas wrapped his arms around Livan's upper thigh, pressing her leg into his chest and steadying it against his body.

"I know it will be hard," he said to her gently. Tears were squeezing down her cheeks from the pain, carving tracks through the caked blood and dust. "And I know I have not given you much reason not to, but please, try your hardest not to kick me to death."

She actually laughed; a throaty, weak rattle, but a laugh nonetheless, and Solas felt the leg he steadied jerk and shudder as, in that moment, Iron Bull set it back into place.

Livan screamed, her body bucking in agony; Solas held tight to her while Bull tried to hold her leg still, and Vivienne poised with the potion over her mouth. "Drink, my dear, quickly," she urged. But it took a few moments for Livan to surface through the pain long enough to open her mouth, gasping, and greedily suck down the regeneration potion, whimpering around the glass. She drained it, and her body began pulsating with green magic.

It was an ugly thing to watch; she screamed and kicked, writhing on the ground, as bones knit back into place, torn muscles and ruptured organs repaired and fused back together. It seemed to end all at once; one moment she was gasping like a landed fish on the ground, and the next, she sat bolt upright, breathing heavily, the process complete, the glow fading away.

Her eyes were inches from his, and they stared at one another, silver gaze shining fiercely through her dirt-stained, tear-tracked face.

"Where's my sword?" she rasped.


End file.
